


Other Books

by knowtheway



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Unhealthy Relationships, Zelda’s gonna be conflicted af the majority of the time, lotta emotions lads, mentions of previous abuse, mentions of suicide and self-harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knowtheway/pseuds/knowtheway
Summary: She was sitting at the Spellman breakfast table – the spirit of her brother smiling beside her and a soft glow filtering all throughout the house. She’d been here before, when she’d fallen into limbo after that religious zealot of a mortal shot her.
Relationships: Faustus Blackwood/Zelda Spellman, Zelda Spellman/Mambo Marie
Comments: 95
Kudos: 158





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I have come to deliver a Lupercalian offering to mine coven. :) This will likely wind up being a long-ish multichapter fic, but then again... maybe I can wrap things up quickly for once. 
> 
> Set just after part 3, like maybe a week or so later.

_“We’ll start in the past.”_

She was sitting at the Spellman breakfast table – the spirit of her brother smiling beside her and a soft glow filtering all throughout the house. She’d been here before, when she’d fallen into limbo after that religious zealot of a mortal shot her. But she hadn’t experienced any near-death experiences since… at least, she thought she hadn’t. Last she could recall, she had been slowly falling into sleep in a soft bed with the pleasant weight of Marie behind her, wrapped in the secure embrace of her arms...

Edward’s hand lightly rests on her shoulder and she blinks back into the moment. “Sister? Are you ready?”

She furrows her brow, scanning the room to try and grasp what’s brought her back here, but nothing comes to her. Something’s different this time, too. “Where’s Hilda?” she asks him and Edward smiles reassuringly.

“She’s at home, just like you are,” he says.

She lightly shakes her head, still confused. “… Am I dying again?”

“No,” he says softly, and moves to lay his hand over hers atop the table, “I promise you’re not hurt. No one is. And I’m here to make sure it stays that way.”

“Edward, what do you mean?” she whispers.

“Sister, I’m afraid you have quite a fight ahead of you. It is very dangerous and it is very near,” his voice honest and firm in the way Edward always spoke.

She balks, though, huffing out a laugh. “No, that can’t be. We defeated the Pagans, Hecate restored the coven’s power,” she gives him an acknowledging look, “thanks to your guidance of course,” and Edward smiles softly, “Sabrina is safe at home, the Dark Lord subdued, and… and… “

All at once, her blood runs cold. If the Dark Lord had been returned to Hell… what then had become of his captor, her estranged husband?

Edward squeezes her hand lightly and tightens his face with a remorseful sigh, looking at her cautiously.

“No,” she says, shaking her head and he nods sadly, his eyes downcast with regret. “Faustus?”

“I’m afraid so, Sister,” he says. “He’s unleashed a dark force the likes of which you and I cannot even comprehend and has three children in his company to help carry out his bidding.”

Her mouth drops in a gasp and panic fills her chest. “Children? What children?”

Edward stays speaking calmly, despite her clearly frantic state, “His twin son and daughter. And one of Prudence Night’s sisters: Agatha.”

She stands suddenly then, the scratch of her chair against the floor echoing loudly as she forcefully pushes back from it. “No, the twins are here!” she says panicked, looking at the staircase in the parlor. “They’re upstairs, Ambrose hid them in the doll house, they’re… they’re safe and they’re _here_ ,” her voice trembles with tears as she hurries into the parlor, but as she takes the first few steps towards the attic, she realizes they can’t be here. She’s not even in the same reality as them right now.

Oh, how could she have let this happen again? Leaning against the barrister, she lets out a shaky breath. The last time she’d visited this realm, she had seen a vision of Sabrina telling her she couldn’t have asked for a better mother. How could she possibly have been a good mother when she’d let her chil-… step children… night children be snatched away from her for the second time in a matter of months? And Agatha… goddess knew she couldn’t stand the girl, but she would never wish her lost and in harm’s way like she was now. All because she allowed the girls to go alone into the forest that night… she _knew_ better.

She feels Edward tentatively approach her and one look at his face has her crumpling to the floor, burying her own face in her hands. Her brother sits next to her and cradles her into a hug, stroking her hair soothingly the way he used to when they were young.

She keeps her face buried in his shoulder for several minutes, not ready to leave the comfort of his reassuring embrace which she’d missed for far too many years. “I’ve been so lost without you, Edward,” she muffles into his shirt, “Everything is always going wrong and I never know what to do… I _miss_ you, brother.”

“I’m sorry, Zelda,” he says, “I’m so sorry I haven’t been there to help you. Please know I wanted to be.”

Another sob wracks through her at his words, but then she feels him gently pull back to look at her, his eyes soft and sincere, “But sister – you have gone far and beyond anything I could have ever handled on my own. The only reason I ever succeeded at _anything_ was because I had _you_ by my side to help.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but he stops her, holding her hands in his lap, “You’ve stopped the world from ending, Zelda. Twice. Ripped our sister and yourself back from the dead. Kept my daughter and our nephew safe as if they were your own. All by yourself.”

“No,” she whispers softly, “I had Hilda.”

He smiles warmly. “Yes. And now… you also have me. I will be here for what you face next and help you the way you always did me. Every step of the way.”

A tear rolls down her cheek as she smiles at him, but then the worry of the present comes rushing back all at once. “What is it that I’m facing exactly?”

He lets out a slow exhale. “The Eldritch Terrors have been released upon Earth to destroy existence as we know it,” he says plainly.

“... _How_?” she says incredulously.

“Faustus… “ he pauses a moment, “Faustus and I once studied a mystical dark magick that would allow the bending of time and space itself. I never thought… we were just boys. But he must have finally put it into practice. Something made him think it was necessary. To end us all.”

She feels shocked, trying to process so many things at once and it’s all just a bit too overwhelming. They had been boys and she had been a girl and they had all been friends once. Hadn’t they? He had even been her lover, her _husband_ … and now he was her worst enemy. “Why, Edward?” she asks. “Why does he want to hurt us? … Why does he want the Spellmans gone so badly?”

Edward closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, and rubs his thumb over their joined hands gently. “I’m not sure. Which is why we’re here.”

She stares at him quizzically. “What’s here?”

“Hopefully… answers,” he says and he rises to his feet, pulling her up with him. “I’m here to guide you, sister, just as I did before. We found your path last time, but now we must find another’s. I can’t promise it will be pleasant nor without peril, but I have faith in you and I know we can do it together. If you’ll allow me.”

She takes a second to breathe, a wealth of thoughts and emotions overwhelming her at once, but then the very floor beneath her feet begins to shake and Edward looks up at the ceiling worriedly. “Our time’s running out…” and then he reaches for her quickly, hugs her close to his chest and whispers against her hair, “He wears the Mark of Cain, so you cannot hurt him as it is now. Do not seek him out. I bid you farewell for now, sister. I will see you again soon. I will keep you safe.”

“What? Edward, no wait!” she pleads, trying to hang on to him as the world around her begins to fade, but something is pulling her in the opposite direction. Something warm and inviting, but she can’t let him go. Not yet.

She awakes with a loud gasp, jolting up so fast, she nearly collides with Marie who is hovering over her in concern.

“Shhh, Zelda,” she whispers soothingly, her cool hand coming up to her sweat-sheened brow and gently brushing her hair from her face. “Ma cherie, you were dreaming. It is alright, you are safe.”

Zelda’s fast breathing tells her otherwise, but she tries to focus on Marie’s soft voice and the healing touch of her hand, laying her head back down onto her pillow with a deep sigh.

She lays still for several seconds, steadying her breathing and savoring her lover’s sweet whispers.  


“I saw my brother,” she says after a moment and Marie stills in surprise. “He spoke to me. Just like before.”

Marie blinks in concern, but then a knowing smile spreads slowly across her face, and she leans in closer to Zelda. “Your mét-tét will always visit when you are in need. Your brother must know of something you’ll require soon.”

Zelda flinches at that suggestion and Marie’s eyebrow raises, but she hesitates to respond. She and Marie had become fast friends and even faster lovers, but she’d yet to divulge much of her history to her or vice versa. While she knows Marie is unfailingly supportive and understanding, she’s not sure she’s quite ready to tell her that her deranged spouse has unleashed one of the darkest forces in existence upon the world and that her sole focus for the foreseeable future will be preparing to stop him, oh and by the way, he’s invincible at the current moment. So instead, she gives a small smile and an acknowledging hum.

“It is good to be visited, yes?” Marie murmurs as she drapes herself over Zelda’s chest, her hand coming up to softly stroke her cheek.

Zelda’s not sure how to answer that. Seeing Edward always brought her joy, yes - but considering the circumstances for his appearance, perhaps “good” isn’t really the word to use.

“Ma cherie, you are tongue-tied,” she laughs and Zelda offers her a weak smile, leaning her face into Marie’s tender touch. “There are many hours of night left. Sleep now, my dear Zelda, and rest your mind.”

“I’m not sure I can,” she whispers, looking up at her lover with an uncharacteristic shyness.

Marie considers her for a moment and then chuckles softly, swinging her leg up over Zelda’s waist so that she’s properly atop her now - their silken skin pressed against each other and a sweet warmth radiating between them.

“What would you say to some... _distraction_ instead?” Marie raises her brow with a smirk that Zelda quickly matches.

“I’m rather certain that’s something I _can_ do,” Zelda says in a husky whisper and then Marie’s soft lips are on hers, tongue sliding into her mouth and all thoughts of the danger ahead vanishing under her lover’s gentle caress.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna be some time jumps back and forth here and this chapter is a bit of a leap forward, but I promise to do my best in making it cohesive and coherent.

“Ambrose, that’s _preposterous_!” she whispers harshly, hooking her hand in the crook of her arm as she takes a tense puff of her cigarette.

Her nephew is staring at her with that exhausted, pleading expression he so often uses to wear her down, as if to say, “Auntie, you _know_ I’m right.” The boy had always been a master at manipulation and Hecate be saved if she didn’t give in to him every time. He was a smart boy, a charming boy – Hilda had raised him that way – and much like her sister, she found she couldn’t help herself in conceding to his appealing nature, loathe as she would ever be to admit it.

But not all of the fight in her had left just yet. “Really, you should be thanking Hecate above that Prudence wasn’t home when you got here. His head would already be rolling from his shoulders by now.”

Ambrose sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “Yes, Aunt Zee, which is why I came to you first - because I know, despite yourself, you will listen to reason if it means keeping the coven and our family safe.”

“ _Despite_ myself?” she scoffs and Ambrose shrugs challengingly. 

“Is your resistance right now not purely performative and only delaying the truth you know will help us?” he says boldly, raising his brow and her eyes narrow dangerously.

“You, dear nephew, are far too arrogant and that is no way to speak to your Aunt!” she scolds him and he instantly softens, nodding hesitantly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “But I would not be this brash without reason.”

She flicks her cigarette and regards him silently for a moment, lips pursed and shoulders tensed. Stepping in closer to him, she raises her brows and gives him a warning look, “The minute your theory so much as hints at being incorrect, he goes to the gallows. Is that clear?”

Ambrose nods with a small smile and then gently guides his skeptical auntie down the hallway to the morgue. The walk over allows him time to explain the circumstances that brought her estranged spouse back into her presence and Zelda listens carefully with a wary heart.

They had been slowly learning that the Eldritch Terrors were not so much physical entities as they were abstract concepts – mysteries yet to be wholly solved and feelings that were incomprehensible by human and witch kind alike – things such as fear, madness, anger… the darkest of darkness and near impossible to defeat. The most recent wave to pass through Greendale had been that of loneliness. It afflicted the mortals severely, many succumbing to the despair that infected their souls and resulting in them ending their lives before the coven had managed to drive the force of it out. They had but days between each attack to prepare and never knew what malevolency awaited them next.

****

Ambrose told her that they had stumbled upon him in the woods after evoking an ancient magic, combining the strength of the demon Abbadon with the brotherhood of St.Maurice, effectively forging a bond among adversaries that proved loneliness inferior to that of their cooperative collaboration… to that of humanity working together. When the dust settled, they had organized a search for survivors wandering lost in the wood. They had found Agatha within the first few hours and Prudence whisked her away to the infirmary, yet to leave her side in the two days that had passed since.

They had found him last night, stumbling in circles in the dark and wailing like a wounded animal into the crisp night air. Ambrose had his bow at the ready, nearly releasing an arrow directly into his heart when Father Blackwood caught his eye and he saw an absolute shell of a man behind his gaze. Faustus had walked over, collapsed to his knees in front of him, and let out a grateful sob to Ambrose’s great confusion.

The man was covered in soot, his eyes wild, and his gate frail. Ambrose’s better judgement was screaming at him not to take pity, but when he gripped a fist into the bottom of the boy’s jacket and slumped down into a fit of tears, the gentle heart his Aunt Hilda had fostered in him could not strike him down.

Not yet.

“Oh, it is you!” Faustus shuddered, “Which means she is not lost!”

“F-father Blackwood?” he asked cautiously and Faustus slowly raised his head, the dirt on his face streaked with tears.

“I wandered alone for so long!” he gripped Ambrose’s jacket tighter and Ambrose did the same to his crossbow. “I was certain I had been forsaken! That I would never know the comfort of her again! … But she lives! She must if you do! And I will not let them take her from me!”

Reinforcements slowly formed behind Ambrose and it took his entire power of persuasion for them to lower their weapons. They had cautiously, each with their chest heaving in curious confusion.

Ambrose stared down at the man who he had once sworn to kill and was now twice pardoning, but if anyone knew what further dangers lied ahead, it would rather unfortunately be him. And considering the rather strange and desperate words coming from him at the current moment – along with the lack of perceived intent to harm him – he could not justify slaughtering him until he understood.

He crouched down to Faustus’ level then, stared into his feral gaze, and asked, “Who is ‘she’? Who will they not take from you, Father?”

Faustus heaved several deep breaths, as if the mere thought caused him pain, and then he spluttered out pleadingly, “Zelda… My wife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Researching the lore surrounding eldritch terrors has been quite a trip and if the show is going to draw any inspiration from what I’ve been reading, we are in for the mindfuck of all mindfucks, dude. But I reckon it’ll be pretty fun, too! Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I appreciate you sticking with me if you’re here. Very graphic and disturbing depictions of violence in this chapter, so heed the tags! Thanks for reading!

They’re in a patch of field Zelda is familiar enough with to know is in Greendale, but not certain enough to know exactly where. An evening dew kisses the blades of grass beneath their feet and a gentle fog cascades over them.

It took a week from the time Edward first visited her for him to come calling once again. He greeted her in their home – a version of it, at least – and told her he’d found some things she needed to see. She’d asked him to explain, but he’d told her their time was precious, limited… and she would understand once she saw for herself. So he guided her into a blindingly bright light outside their front door and held her hand as they walked through it to where they stood now.

She had waited so anxiously for his return that the days felt like months, but now that he was here – everything was moving so fast and she didn’t understand and she was so afraid whatever world they were in would crumble around them again at any moment that all she could do was to squeeze her brother’s hand tighter.

He leads them down a small slope of a hill and Zelda can just begin to make out a clamor of voices. Edward guides them just close enough to view the scene before them and Zelda gasps softly when she sees him.

As a boy, Faustus had been small and skinny and despite the permanently sour look on his face, he was far from intimidating. He couldn’t be more than 7 or 8 years old here, his gangly arms barely supporting the bundle of sticks he’s carrying, and underneath the tense expression he’s feigning – he looks plainly frightened.

“Edward…?” Zelda whispers softly in confusion, though she can’t seem to tear her eyes away from unfolding events that are filling her with trepidation.

“You just need to watch, Sister,” he says solemnly and then tugs her closer to him so that his free hand can rest protectively around her shoulder.

Little happens at first – by all indications, it appears they’re preparing for some sort of ritual, though it’s either outdated beyond even Zelda’s years or one she never learned because she can’t seem to recognize it. Her eyes stay glued to Faustus, who lays the sticks he carried at the base of a pile, his hands shaking from cold or fear (she can’t quite tell) as he hides them quickly under the thick material of his cloak.

A sudden clatter calls Zelda’s attention to an approaching carriage. It’s surrounded by a group of warlocks, most of which Zelda recognizes from her youth, but none more so than the one at the front – Faustus’ father, Mr. Blackwood. He had always bred a certain uneasiness in Zelda from the moment she met him at mass as a girl, but seeing him here – torch in hand with a snarl on his face – has her cowering back into Edward’s embrace.

Faustus seems intent on not being seen nor heard, as he shields himself in the middle of a group of adult witches. She never pressed him for detail, but Zelda knew from conversations in their youth that Faustus feared his father, and that he was often cruel in the discipline of his son. She needn’t remind herself of the somber relief on Faustus’ face the day he finally passed away.

The carriage comes to a halt and, amongst an indiscernible swell of shouting, Zelda sees the warlocks tugging four mortals forward – a family – bound and terrified, towards the pile of wood. It hits her all at once to what she’s witnessing. A revenge burning.

Such a practice had been outlawed by the time Zelda was born, but she’d heard of it in her history classes and from murmurs of the older members in the coven. It sounded utterly barbaric and – while Zelda would have never admitted sympathy for the mortals – she couldn’t understand the logic of eye-for-an-eye justice, thus was glad the coven had done away with it.

Edward hugs her tighter into him, the way he did when she was little and frightened, but when she glances at his face, she realizes it’s as much for him as it is her.

They tie the crying mortals to four posts, facing each other – a sadistic practice to ensure they witnessed each other’s suffering – and it’s then Zelda notices that one of them is a child.

“Edward! We can’t let… “ she says panicked, but he interrupts her sadly.

“It has already been done,” he says and Zelda, shuddering, begins to silently cry.

Mr. Blackwood turns to face the crowd, gesturing broadly and posturing with an arrogance she knew too well, as he explains the mortals they’ve captured were kin to witch hunters and it was their sacred duty to see justice served for the recent loss of a couple within the coven.

“Our brethren - burned in their beds by cowardly followers of the False God,” his voice boomed through the field. “AND SO BLOOD DEMANDS BLOOD.”

The crowd cheers and the mortals scream in terror, the mother of the family futilely reaching out to try and grasp her children and Zelda feels so helpless that her knees begin to buckle under her.

“As kin to the victims, a Blackwood will carry out their sentence,” he says, his eyes now searching through the crowd. “Where is my son?”

Oh. Oh, dear Satan, no.

“Faustus… “ Zelda whispers, watching the boy she once knew shuffle forward nervously to his father.

“My boy,” his father says proudly, offering the lit torch to him. Faustus hesitates, glancing at the youngest amongst the mortals – a boy not too dissimilar in age to him – and it’s only when his father’s face begins to fall in anger that he pokes his hand from under his cloak and takes it.

“My son, in the name of our Dark Lord Satan, will see that an injustice is paid with blood of the villains,” he says, “Today, we will lay precedence for those who would seek to harm our kind in the future – we send a message… that we are not to be tried! That any violence towards witches will be met with a vengeance the likes of which will haunt the mortals for centuries to come!”

The crowd again cheers their approval, but Zelda hasn’t taken her eyes off of Faustus, who is now visibly shaking and staring directly into the mortal boy’s eyes with terror. She sees him whisper something to the boy, though she can’t make it out, and just as Faustus turns his attention to the older girl to do the same, Mr. Blackwood claps a hand on his shoulder and he stills.

“May wickedness bless your soul today, my son,” he says to him and Faustus hesitantly nods. “Are you ready?”

Faustus looks from the mortals to his father, chest heaving, and then says in the smallest of voices, “Can we spare the children?”

His father looks at him incredulously, rage slowly building in his eyes. “Did they have any care if children were present in your aunt and uncle’s house the day they perished?”

Faustus just stares at him blankly.

“Hm?” he says gruffly. “Will these children not grow into adults who would just as quickly burn our own children?”

Zelda gulps nervously because she sees now what Faustus has done, the mortal boy is slowly wriggling from his bindings and has just freed a hand to tug at his sister’s ropes when Mr. Blackwood turns to them.

The boy wisely hides his unbound hand as Mr. Blackwood addresses him, “Wouldn’t you, boy? Have thine parents not taught you to punish the wicked? To hate witches?”

The boy looks to his mother and she muffles out a sob through the gag around her mouth and the boy shakes his head “No.”

Mr. Blackwood’s eyebrows raise and he leans in closer, tugging the boy’s gag down so he can speak. “No?” he asks curiously. “Then tell me why your kin murdered my brother and his wife in their sleep?”

The boy takes in a few fast breaths and says softly, “We are not all the same. I would not harm one of God’s creatures.”

Zelda and Edward sigh heavily in unison as they both know the boy’s mistake instantly.

“ _God_?” he says, barking out a laugh. “You think we are creatures of God?”

Faustus looks sympathetically at the parents, as if to say, “I cannot save you,” and Zelda is now fully sobbing.

“No,” Mr. Blackwood huffs out. “We are descendants of a higher power, gifted with abilities mortals can only dream up and write about in their sad little stories. And their envy of us… “ he pulls the boy’s gag back up, “always turns to wrath and it is we who suffer for it. No… no longer. And see – unlike your kind, we are merciful – you, child, will be sent back into the arms of your creator you so love. Tonight.”

He turns back to Faustus and glares at him with authority, “Burn them. Now.”

Faustus takes a nervous gulp, watching the boy break free of his restraints once again and turn to help his sister, “But father… “

“ENOUGH!” he slaps Faustus hard across the face and grabs his arm holding the torch, forcing it towards the pile of wood.

The boy jumps back as Mr. Blackwood notices he’s free and begins shouting a curse towards him, but Faustus quickly drops the torch, landing it on his father’s feet and effectively distracting him. At the same time he mutters obscenities and puts out the fire on his trousers, the pile of wood bursts into flame. The three mortals still bound to the posts cry out in agony and Mr. Blackwood grabs Faustus roughly by the neck as he scans the field for the boy who has now vanished, but there is no sign of him. Seemingly counting his losses, he resigns to holding Faustus’ head in place and forcing him to watch the mortals burn until the flames are nothing but embers.

Zelda cannot see his face, but she doesn’t need to in order to know he’s traumatized. The tension in his shoulders and his shaking frame tell her all she needs to know. As Mr. Blackwood yanks him away towards the carriage, Edward gently signals her with a squeeze to her hand and she sees that – much like herself – tears stain his face in sympathy for the boy Faustus once was and the impossible position he’d been put in at such a young age.

“Sister,” Edward says low, his tone full of remorse. “We’ve time for one more memory… but you may find it very painful.”

She blinks in shock. “Was what I just witnessed not meant to be painful?”

“Yes, but… “ he sighs, closing his eyes and taking one deep breath. “This one involves you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is draining me, but I hope it’s at least a little bit cohesive and that you’re invested in the ride. We’ve got quite a few more twists and turns in the works!
> 
> Thanks again for reading! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update double update! 
> 
> I’mma be real with you, chief. I need this chapter done and posted ‘cause it’s dark af and it is weighing on me.
> 
> Full warning - there is graphic violence, depiction of sexual assault/attempted rape, and murder. If any of these things are triggering to you, TURN BACK NOW. It is basically a metaphor for PTSD and it is a lot to take in. Even I find it triggering and I WROTE it, so... for real, protect yourself. K cool thanks, love you bye!

He explains to her that he’s been searching through the passage of time, looking for clues - any indication of what could have shaped Faustus into who he’s become. He tells her he still has much searching to do, but that sharing what he’s found to be important thus far may save them in the present.

They had yet to experience an Eldritch Terror since Edward’s last visit, but she knew the small reprieve was coming to a close and Faustus was seemingly keeper of the keys. Anything she could learn to stop him was of value, though - thinking of the young boy they just watched - she feels a peculiar sadness building in her at the thought of defeating him.

Time is infinite, but it’s also precious and she knows she and Edward are limited while in this place. So hovering somewhere between confusion and comprehension, she nods and grips his offered arm as he transports them to the next memory.

The setting couldn’t be more different - it’s a pleasant day in the depths of the Greendale forest, rays of sunshine filtering through the trees, and the gentle sounds of insects buzzing while the wind whispers past them.

Zelda is entranced by it, the warm feeling of home embracing her as she surveys the woods she grew up in, the familiarity of it a comfort. She sighs in muted wonder, turning to face Edward and co-reminisce, but he stands stiff and alert and a sense of foreboding hits Zelda all at once.

He said this would be painful for her. But why? This was one of her favorite places on Earth, so much she loved about her life happened here - her first accurate incantation that made the leaves dance around her and Hilda as they squeaked with laughter, her dark baptism, Sabrina’s birth...

“ _Hildie, run!_ ” she hears a scream from an approaching voice and whips her head around towards it. “ _Run home! Find Edward!_ ”

There’s a loud rustle in the nearby trees and it’s then she sees a frantic Hilda, small and pink-faced, her golden pigtails bouncing in the wind. Zelda gasps and reaches out for her, but she runs right through her and Edward as if they were dust... and Zelda looks at him, stricken.  He pulls her to him and holds her tight again, seemingly bracing her for what’s to come.  


Zelda looks on in absolute shock to see her adolescent self stumble through a thicket of weeds into the clearing. She’s noticeably winded,pausing a fraction of a second to take a breath, but it proves to be a poor decision because just as she begins to move again, a large rock collides with the side of her head and she falls to the forest floor with a pained scream.

“Sister, do you remember?” Edward whispers, soothingly rubbing her back.

Zelda scans her surroundings as her mind connects the dots, aggressively bringing her back to a moment she’s long-since hidden away within herself. But as the group of mortal boys descends on her younger self, it all becomes just as vivid as the day it actually occurred. “Yes,” she whispers tearfully and rests her head on her brother’s shoulder.

“ _Nailed her!_ ” one of them shouts, grinning maliciously as he runs up to her sluggish body and hovers over her. “ _Got the witch!_ ”

“ _Nice!_ ” the tallest of them smirks as the remaining others form a circle around her.

Zelda’s younger self is clearly dazed, propping herself up on her hand and holding the wounded part of her head with a whimper.

“ _Oh no, sweetheart_ ,” one of them says, nudging her arm with his foot so that she falls back to the ground. “ _Naughty little bitches who play with the devil don’t get treated nice, isn’t that right fellas?_ ”

They all snicker their agreement and Zelda can only moan in pain. She sees herself trying to cast a defense spell - she remembers concentrating on the incantation - but this had been before her dark baptism and the small bit of power afforded to her young soul was of little use to a wounded witch.

“ _Don’t think you’ll be getting away from us, doll,_ ” they say. “ _You’re gonna pay for selling your soul to Satan, little bitch, and you’re gonna thank us for it._ ”

“ _Lunae magicae_ ,” she says weakly and the boys all gasp in shock as her body suddenly disappears. But again - being weakened - she rematerializes just a few feet away in despair.

“ _Shit_ ,” one of them says in awe as they gather back around her. “ _This one really is a witch._ ”

“ _Yeah, which means we best get on with it before any of her kind show up_ ,” another chimes in, hooking his hand under her elbow and pulling her up like a rag doll.

“ _Aw now_ ,” one says, reaching out to her now-standing body and gently holding her chin. She’s barely being supported by the boy behind her and blood trickles down the side of her face as she stares coldly into his eyes. “ _I think we’ve got time to have a little fun first, don’t you?_ ”

A muttering of laughter hits present day Zelda in her stomach like an ice pick and she feels herself on the verge of being sick. It’s consuming her all over again - the sounds of their menacing laughs, the rough feel of their hands, the sour smell of their skin...

“I didn’t know,” Edward says quietly to her, and she closes her eyes. “I should have been with you.”

She can’t find any words, chokes on the ones she tries to say, and so only can fist her hand in his shirt so hard that her knuckles turn white. When she reopens her eyes, her younger self’s dress is open and two pairs of hands are sliding up her thighs.

“ _Such a pretty little thing_ ,” one murmurs, stroking her. “ _Too bad she had to be a devil’s whore._ ”

One of them hooks his hands in her underwear and tugs them down, standing up as he unbuckles his belt. He’s breathing heavily and his tongue darts out to lick his lips as Zelda’s younger self mutters futilely in protest. He’s just grabbed her hips, a hungry grin on his face, when a sudden crack of lightning hits directly next to them.

They all jump in surprise and the boy holding Zelda drops her, her limp body falling on her knees and slumping over.

“ _The hell was that?_ ” one of them says, all of them looking above in fear, and another bolt hits in the middle of them.

“ _Jesus!_ ” one exclaims and another stands frozen, pointing at something behind them.

They all look to see a raven-haired boy holding Zelda in his arms and his face twisted in fury.

“Thank Satan _he_ was with you,” Edward whispers and Zelda’s older self nods with a small sob, remembering what had almost been and who had been there to stop it.

Faustus calls forth another web of lightning as the boys try to scatter away and once he has them cornered, he narrows his eyes as they all cry out in pain. “ _You will forget what you have seen here today and you will never lay hands on a witch or warlock again. Anytime you think of doing so, you will feel such searing pain that it will seem as if your head is splitting in two. Scream if you understand,_ ” and Faustus squints just a little bit harder as they yell in agony. “ _Very good_ ,” he seethes. “ _Now go_.”

Once they disperse, Faustus kneels carefully, steadying her head in the crook of his arm and hovering his hand over her gash on her head. He whispers a spell and it slowly heals as the color returns to Zelda’s face and she stirs in his arms. He’s taken care to right her clothes, as well, and when she blinks her eyes open, it’s almost as if she was never touched.

“ _Sister Spellman_ ,” he says softly. “ _Do you know where you are?_ ”

She stares at him in confusion for a moment, then turns her head to look at her surroundings, “ _The forest_ ,” she answers quietly. “ _I was summoning pixie charms with my sister... my sister!_ ”

She shoots up worriedly, but just as quickly fades back into his embrace, clearly worn out.

“ _You mustn’t strain yourself just yet,_ ” he says soothingly, “ _You’ve had quite the ordeal. And I’m sure Hilda is alright._ ”

Zelda’s adult self, still clutching desperately at her brother, stares at her younger self and Faustus in disbelief. He was so gentle - how was he ever that gentle? She would never had believed it possible unless she saw it for herself.

He continues holding her patiently as she regains her strength, several minutes passing by before she eases herself up into a sitting position with his assistance.

They make idle chatter for a few minutes, but in no time they are deep in genuine conversation over their powers, their faith. He visibly brightens at how much she seems to know and she thrives under his approving gaze.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” she says after a while. “ _That I wasn’t strong enough to deal with those mortals on my own._ ”

He eyes her curiously. “ _You were grossly outnumbered,_ ” he tells her, “ _You couldn’t possibly have fought them off on your own._ ”

“ ... _You did_ ,” she counters.

He gives her a sympathetic smirk. “ _My name is signed in my blood to our Dark Lord’s book. You will be bestowed with such power when your day comes, too._ ”

She hugs her knees up against her chest, “ _I worry he will not think me worthy of his gifts._ ”

“ _That is an empty worry, Sister,_ ” he reassures her. “ _You have his favor, I can see it. And look how he has marked you as Chosen,_ ” he gestures at her golden red hair. “ _He blesses so few with such a color... all who possess it are precious to him._ ”

Zelda’s cheeks are rapidly turning pink and she smiles at him gratefully, biting her lip timidly as his eyes scan over the streak of dried blood on her temple.

“ _A precious thing as yourself should not be marred in such a way,_ ” he murmurs, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and gesturing to her, “ _May I?_ ”

She nods, leaning into his touch as he wipes it away. Once he finishes cleaning her up, a moment of tenderness passes between them and Zelda, fearing she’s imagining it, breaks the silence.

“ _You needn’t burden yourself by staying with me, Brother Blackwood. You’ve been more than generous with your time and it must be inconveniencing you terribly to be here now._ ”

He smiles kindly, “ _It’s no inconvenience. Not at all, Sister Spellman._ ”

“ _Zelda,_ ” she says softly and he looks at her questioningly. “ _You may call me Zelda._ ”

“ _Zelda_ ,” he repeats, nodding.

She takes a moment, fidgeting with her hands in her lap, and then she asks shyly, “ _May I call you Faustus?_ ”

He nods, “ _You may_.”

The scene begins to dissolve and Zelda’s present self looks at her brother, completely distraught. “Oh, Edward. Why? Why did you show me this?”

His eyes are glistening with tears and he sighs regretfully as he looks over her face. “I’m sorry... but I had to... for you to understand.”

She shakes her head in confusion and then realizes they’re once again in a different place. It’s night and they stand outside a house Zelda recognizes as from one of the mortal neighborhoods in town.

Faustus stands, fists clenched at his sides, as he watches the arriving family from the shadows. She realizes it’s the same day as her attack, because one of the mortals who’d hurt her is among those walking inside and he’s dressed in the same clothes.

Before they can make it inside, Faustus announces himself, and the father of the family - though startled - turns to address him genially.

The man looks familiar, Zelda notices, but she can’t quite put her finger on where she’s seen him before.

The mortal boy and the man stay outside as the women head in. Faustus smiles cruelly at the boy who clearly did ascommanded and has no memory of him nor what he did earlier that day, but Faustus turns his attention to the father.

“We’ve met before, you and I,” Faustus tells him and the man laughs curiously. “I stared into your horror-filled eyes once and had mercy on you.”

The man’s face slowly falls as the boy looks on perplexed, passing his gaze between Faustus and his father as he continues.

“I listened to my father warn me that you would grow into a man who would raise children to hurt us,” he begins to shake with rage. “And I. let. you. _**go**_.”

Zelda realizes suddenly that the man is the boy Faustus helped to escape from being burned that day in the field and her attacker is his son.

The man attempts to rush himself and his son inside to safety, but Faustus freezes them with a wave of his hand. “It is _ever_ so disappointing that you have proven my father right... and ever so important I do not let your crimes go unpunished.”

Terror flashes over their faces as Faustus steps closer to them, “You will never hurt another of our kind. And I will never trust another of your kind. This is my pledge and my  _promise_ ,” he stares cruelly at them as their skin begins to dry and crack until there are pools of blood draining at their feet. Faustus raises his fist for one final blow, slamming it down into his palm with a dark satisfaction, “Praise Satan!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank God that’s done. For those thirsty for Zarie content - it’s coming and for those who worry I’m painting Faustus as a saint, just calm your tits, okay. It’ll all come together eventually. 
> 
> To address the ambiguous age gap (I.e. how could the boy from the field grow into a man with a family while Faustus is still a boy?) - I took the original description of Nick and Prudence being 70+ years old to heart and being an old man didn’t stop Nick from cozying up to a 16 year-old as if he were one himself because maybe - in witch years - he still sort of is 16, so... I evoke witch world immunity on ambiguous age gaps here.
> 
> Also, I’ve always wanted to make reference to Zelda being a ginger and the belief that gingers were products of the devil. Surely this would be a blessing in the witch world and I just wanted Zelda to have something special for herself because she deserves it.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! And also... sorry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. An update is (finally) here. Thank you for your patience. This is mostly a reflective chapter (Zelda processes what she saw with Edward in the last chapter, so warning for mentions of sexual assault), but some action will recommence in the next. Thanks for reading!

It’s not often that she finds herself rooted in the moment. Staying still was never an option - not when life demanded movement, planning, adaptability. Such as her life is and always has been, a storm of movement and quick-thinking, she can’t recall a time when things were ever quiet in her mind.

She’s not sure she’d call this quiet, either. More so an unwelcomely violent silence. She’d much prefer the noise. Because it’s in the quiet she’s finding things she’d long since forgotten - things she’d dropped and run from with such ferocity that she could almost, at times, believe they never happened. Being still let them find her, surround her in a circle so that she couldn’t move if she wanted to. And it was all just a bit overwhelming.

It’s nearing the hour of the dead when she glances at the kitchen clock and idly flicks her cigarette, gripping her scotch in the other hand. She tries to tell herself the slight tremble in her grip as she sets the glass down is due to her lack of sleep. Zelda has never been particularly good at restful sleep, but it’s admittedly come in even shorter supply the past few days. Since she’d last seen her brother in the nether realm.

“ _I didn’t know_ ,” he had said.

No, he couldn’t have. She never told anyone what happened in the forest that day. And it would seem neither had Faustus. When a distressed Edward and Hilda finally found them, she hastily explained that she’d hid from the mortals and Faustus, having been on his way to the Spellman residence to tutor Edward that afternoon, spotted her after she re-emerged and accompanied her. It was a perfectly convenient coincidence, that’s all.

She wasn’t sure why she lied at the time, but she learned it was for the best. What people didn’t know couldn’t hurt them after all. And if no one else knew what she knew... well then, no one else could be hurt by it, could they?

For example, when a handful of her professors at the academy held her back after lessons for “private instruction... “ or on the night of The Hunt one Lupercalia when her partner brought some of his fellow warlocks unexpectedly to join in his celebration with her... or when Edward’s advancement in the church leadership program was dependent on the favor of a visiting bishop who had quite the fascination with young, sharp-minded witches... well, who would it have benefited to know the truth? Not them. Certainly not her.

The Church of Night had no place for fragile witches, no concern for those who failed to see a blessing from the Dark Lord in disguise. “ _We all have different gifts_ ,” she’d been taught. It took her a while to understand hers - she knew she had something people (mostly men) wanted, but it wasn’t until a few years in that she realized she could _use_ it. They often didn’t even realize they were being spun at her will and she marveled at how easily a suggestion could slip into their ears while drowning in post-coital bliss. Many of Edward’s successes as high priest could be credited to such suggestions, and no one knew. See, men had a terrible habit of underestimation - a woman of such a healthy sexual appetite could never have enough capacity for theological theory or reform. Thus, when they would proudly declare their “new” and “revolutionary” ideas to the other warlocks in high positions, they didn’t even consider the source by which they discovered them. It was power, of sorts, and one she wielded with such subtly, the simple-minded men of her coven (and more) were never the wiser.

Faustus hadn’t been so simple-minded. Not then, at least. He caught on to her quick, confirming his suspicions in a rather sly conversation one day after mass. He was his own version of a cunning slut after all, playing his cards with almost as much expertise as her, so it made sense. He saw her for what she was and vice versa because they were rather one in the same. And what was the old mortal saying... “birds of a feather?”

They spent several of the following years meeting in small episodes of heated, mutual admiration, recounting the spoils of their labor, and parting in fondness. Smitten as they were with each other’s tactics, they often had separate (at times, opposing) goals, and so time apart became more and more frequent. They always found their way back to each other, though, even when he’d begun courting others for marriage.

She had often wondered why he hadn’t asked _her_... though she had been loathed to admit it stung that he didn’t. Now she knew. Edward had always been protective - she sometimes thought he might sense the danger she tangled herself in - and it turns out... he’d been right to refuse Faustus, hadn’t he?

There is a part of her still shocked by what he did. Robbing her of free thought when he’d spent so many years admiring that very thing in her, but in retrospect -it shouldn’t be shocking at all. He knew what she was capable of more than anyone, knew she’d find her own way to subvert his authority and defy the very beliefs he’d built that authority on, knew she was and always had been far more clever than him, and knew she wasn’t an empty-headed, helpless damsel... so he made her one.

Perhaps the more disappointing thing is that she did not see it coming. She never trusted him - she knew better - it’s just that she’d spent so long giving herself freely to him that she didn’t even consider he would try and _take_ anything from her. So when he did, it was almost as jarring as... well, did Faustus even realize he was little different from those mortals in the forest?

She’s just allowed herself the fall of a single tear at the thought when she hears the soft footsteps of Marie approaching. She quickly pulls herself together stubbing out her cigarette and standing up to face the counter so she can buy herself a few more seconds.

“Zelda,” she says sweetly, her voice warm and comforting as she comes up behind her. “You cannot sleep again, cherie?”

“I just have a lot on my mind,” she replies, letting out a slow exhale when she feels Marie’s arms wrap around her waist.

“Hm,” she laughs, “I can’t imagine what for.”

_No, you really can’t_ , she thinks, resting her hand atop hers, but not leaning back into her embrace. She’s still too tense for that.

“Would you care to unburden yourself?” she asks in a whisper, lightly kissing her shoulder once. “I am awake and alert and here to listen, yes?”

Zelda sighs, “There is no way to unburden myself.”

“Ah, but of course there is!” Marie peeks over her shoulder to look at her face with a smile, shaking her softly, Zelda equal parts amused and annoyed that even in the dark of night, the woman still manages to radiate sunbeams into everything around her.

But Marie’s embrace softens when she sees the evidence of Zelda’s inner torment from her still-watery eyes. “You are upset,” she says with a furrowed brow.

Zelda untangles herself with a sigh, turning to face her, “I’m fine.”

“And you are a horrible liar,” she says plainly, and they both pause. “You told me your brother visited you the other night... you have been restless since.”

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with,” Zelda says with more bite than she intended, but she’s not used to anyone challenging her past her first denial.

Marie’s eyes widen a little, but she quickly regains herself, saying softly, “I _am_ concerned, cherie. More so when I do not know how to help.”

Zelda’s jaw tightens and her hands leaning on the counter’s edge grip into it. By Hecate, this woman was persistent. “Some things cannot be helped.”

“ _People_ can be helped,” she counters, stepping forward sympathetically and Zelda’s discomfort makes her skin so taught that she has to move before it consumes her.

“I am a witch, not a mortal!” Zelda mutters resentfully, whisking herself over to the table to light another cigarette. “There is not a thing to be gained in unburdening emotions on a perfect stranger! Not that you could possibly understand!”

Marie stays silent a moment, clearly stung, and Zelda instantly regrets her words. She takes a deep breath. “You still do not know me very well, Zelda.”

“Correct,” she says, still defensive.

Marie gives her a deflated half-smile, “Then how can you know I would not understand?”

Zelda feels a jolt in her chest as if she’s been cut thoroughly to size. She opens her mouth, bottom lip quivering slightly, but closes it when she realizes she hasn’t the faintest idea how to answer that.

Marie lets the silence sit another second, staring into her eyes, and then huffs out a small laugh. “But perhaps you are right,” she nods sadly, “And you do not need to share anything you do not wish to. Just know I am here, cherie, and even if I do not understand... it does not mean I will not listen.”

Marie bows her head slightly in acknowledgment to her before starting to exit and Zelda feels... so many things at once. Shame, anger, fear, regret. It’s all rising to the surface, all but demanding to be let out, and... oh, she is so very tired. So tired of fighting it back.

Marie is just crossing the kitchen threshold when Zelda instinctively reaches for her, grasping her wrist softly. She stops, looking at their conjoined limbs, before turning her eyes back to Zelda.

“I’m sorry,” Zelda whispers, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m not sure... I don’t... “

“Know how?” Marie says sympathetically.

Hecate save her, could this woman read minds? Was she always this bloody perceptive?

She nods, giving her an apologetic look, and Marie slides her hand up into hers to hold it.

“In that way, witches and mortals are not so different,” she smiles warmly, “But I myself found it less difficult with another to walk with me. Shall I walk with you?”

Zelda squeezes her hand. And nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that the whole story’s gonna be pretty depressing and sad, so... if that’s not your gig... understandable and I’m so sorry. But if it is your gig - well hey there, I’m glad you’re here, please make yourself comfortable. :)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would find himself screaming in the deep of the forest at night, trying to drown it out, but eventually - as the twins approached 14 - it’s all he could hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. This chapter is very Faustus-centric and recounts his time in isolation. To help move the story along, there may another chapter like this. But anything from his perspective (Faustus) will always be a memory Edward finds and shares with Zelda, just told from Faustus’ perspective. So everything in this chapter is something Zelda will become privy to, if that makes sense (it probably doesn’t 🙃). 
> 
> It’s all build-up, so I’m sorry for that, but it’s vital to the plot down the line. Gonna time jump again in the next chapter, so hold on tight! Thank you for reading!

People were often surprised to find that Faustus knew the basics of how to care for a babe. He supposed that was because he didn’t exactly advertise it – of course, it was more of a _woman’s_ job to rear children really – but Faustus always had a gift for observation. There were only so many times he could overhear a conversation between mothers at mass and not pick up on a few things ( _reflexology to calm them_ , he often found himself repeating in his head, unsure as to why). It never hurt to have knowledge of many a thing on hand.

However, caring for two babies at once…

The first couple of years in Loch Ness were admittedly challenging. Once one was fed and changed, the other would inevitably start wailing for the same. He had never known such exhaustion before. As such, there were times he would ensnare a mortal from one of the villages nearby and let them tend to his children while he sanctified himself for his future deeds. Once he no longer had need or became frustrated with their quality of service, he would dispose of them in such a way that no one could possibly locate their remains (long pig was a delicacy he found himself indulging in often).

He could only do this so many times, of course, without suspicion festering within the era in which he found himself. He’d heard stories from his grandfather about The Inquisition – the number of mortals tortured and slaughtered under the supposed will of their False God. To treat their own in such a way (certainly unheard of within the Churches of Darkness, of course) - mortals truly were swine.

In some ways, nestling into this particular period afforded him one sense of security in that he was certain – even if those looking for him figured out he’d traveled through time – they would suspect this era least of all. On the other hand – it was not the ideal environment in which to be a wielder of magic, among so many feeble and fearful minds.

Thus, once the twins were toddlers capable of (mostly) tending to themselves, his enlistment of mortal aid became less and less frequent.

He noticed a difference when they were about 4. He was attempting to teach Judas – sure to be a prodigy – a summoning spell. The boy could barely focus for a second before excitedly running after a dragonfly, staring off into the clouds, or kicking and crying like a useless infant. The harder he pushed him, the more Judas fought him. He couldn’t understand it – this was his _son_. A Blackwood. His _heir_. He should _want_ to learn and excel and master. There was no such thing as failure allowed, and yet the boy insisted on doing so repeatedly.

After a particularly unsuccessful lesson one afternoon, in which he all but literally ripped his own hair from his head, Faustus stormed back to their dwelling only for his jaw to drop at the sight in front of him. Judith, who he had left to play with a few dolls he’d fashioned for her out of grass, was standing aside a perfect summoning circle drawn into the ground. She held a stick in her hand and giggled at the glowing apparition that floated, at her mercy, within it.

“Papa!” she called out excitedly and gestured at her work, all while the apparition floated in balanced evenness. It wasn’t often that even a well-learned adult witch could hold such a spell without severe concentration. And yet here was his little daughter, not even yet old enough for her first unholy communion, with her dolls scattered carelessly in the mud and a positively perfect summoning circle shining brightly at her feet.

He still made attempts with Judas. He had long desired a son and simply could not part with the idea of a successor that easily. However, it wasn’t long before he realized the boy was absolutely hopeless, and Judith… she was truly exceptional.

Sometimes he wondered how the two could possess such different abilities. Constance’s father had always come off a bit dim, but their family was well respected and had flourished within the Church of Night for centuries. He supposed that didn’t mean weakness in the genetic line didn’t exist - not all families could be as pristine as the Blackwoods after all – but even still.

One evening, as his now 8 year-old twins laid to bed and he cast a spell of protection over their heads, Judith once again surprised him. As he kissed her forehead goodnight, she asked him in a small voice, “Did mother have red hair?”

He blinked in confusion for several seconds, staring down at her questioningly. “What on Earth made you ask that?”

She looked down shyly. “I just thought… sometimes I have dreams of a woman with red hair, singing to me and Judas. Was… is that our mother?”

“No,” he said quickly, and his daughter looked up, startled at the sudden answer. 

“Your mother had hair just like yours. And she died giving birth, so she nor anyone else ever sang to you. You’ll do good to forget this woman and never dream of her again.”

A flash of hurt crossed over her eyes and she looked down with a somber nod. “Yes, Papa.”

He sat out by the fire afterwards, deep in thought. It simply was not possible for Judith to remember her. Even he was finding it difficult to recall pieces of her that were once as familiar as his own skin. Every ritual he performed for the Eldritch Terrors seemed to strip a sliver of his past away each time. Certainly to purify his mind, he told himself – one could not serve otherworldly beings with so many ties to worldly things. But how else could it be explained? And how in Satan’s name had Zelda left such an impression when Judith only knew her a mere three months as a newborn?

_Three months that she hid her from you_ , a voice said. _Three months she influenced the child and molded her behind your back. What else did she do?_

He quickly brushed the thought aside, but the voice grew stronger and louder as years went by. _She gave the girl the boy’s magic... She wanted to undo you and your family... She deceived you... Made a fool of you... **BESTED YOU**._

He would find himself screaming in the deep of the forest at night, trying to drown it out, but eventually - as the twins approached 14 - it’s all he could hear.

_She took everything from you... Manipulated you... Played you for a fool... **Just like her brother**... She’ll take it again if she wants to._

Everything he once lingered over - the softness of her skin, the smell of her hair, the way he held her tight against him (like it was the only thing on Earth that ever felt so _right_ ), how glorious he felt every time he thought she was proud of him... what had once been his most vibrant set of memories was now drained into a colorless, empty void.

The only thing left was rage, resentment, and the ever-present voice.

_When the time comes, take your revenge._

_When you meet again... do as she did you... and **destroy her**._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Sorry. Sad shit again. 
> 
> But things... are still gonna happen. Just hang in there! I believe in you!
> 
> Should be pretty apparent, but just in case I didn’t do a good job of conveying it - this is a kind of chronological breakdown of Faustus’ descent into madness. It’s not meant to bring him any absolution, so don’t mistake me. The bits of horridness the Eldritch Terrors are pulling to the forefront are bits that have always existed in him... they’re just exacerbated beyond control now. (Or are they? 🤗)
> 
> As always, thank you again for reading! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ho! So this is gonna be more memories that Edward and Zelda explore, but they’re being looked at through a few different lenses, so the POV may change from time to time. Hopefully, it’s somewhat cohesive and understandable. Probably isn’t, but I’ve put off posting this chapter long enough and it just needs to be... yes, posted.
> 
> Since the CAOS writers have yet to give us backstory, I went ahead and made one myself.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me and thanks for reading!

_“Do you love my sister, Faustus?” Edward asked._

_“Certainly not,” he said quickly with a tone of great offense. “To suggest such a thing... “_

*****

_His harrowing had been arduous and excessive._

_While most students received a week of nightly torture at maximum - and it wasn’t unheard of for one or two to perish in the process - his went on for months. Strung up by his wrists in the witches cell, held down while he was branded with red hot iron to his back, sleep demons set to run wild in his mind as he slept, and a good old-fashioned beating now and again._

_The morning after each arduous night, he supposed, for the first time in his life, he should be grateful for his father. The terror he’d endured in his upbringing had strengthened him for this exact kind of dark reality. Anything less would have seen him dead weeks prior. Oh, he kept the malice he felt - the Dark Lord praised such emotions and he would take great delight in seeing the man dead one day - but he began to see previous curses as blessings. The apparent target on his back was a compliment, really - a sign that the older, more seasoned warlocks saw him as a threat. Which rightly so - indeed he was._

_Faustus was the youngest warlock in Church of Night history to hold the title of Top Boy. By the close of the term following his dark baptism, he practically held the entire academy in the palm of his hand. He had impressed the professors with his effortless execution of master-level spells,subdued his opposers with imposing displays of power (and perhaps a vile or two of poison dropped into their dinner glasses... a drop extra for those involved in his harrowing), and charmed his classmates with an alluring voice and expertly-laid webs of manipulation._

_Leadership came naturally to him - every idea met with praise, every action met with respect. As though it were his destiny, his right. The opportunities it afforded him, the conversations he got to have with high-ranking council members, the absolute euphoria that only came from spending years at the bottom only to rise to the very top. When he was there, no one could touch him. No one could ever hold him down again. He wouldn’t let that happen._

_His title, his power... it became his most precious possession. His purpose. Every challenger for years was thwarted (by whatever means necessary) and his reign seemed impossible to penetrate. As if Satan himself had placed him there._

_This was his calling, he realized. This was where he belonged._

*****

_Any time a new group of students came into the academy, it was quite the event. Older students who had yet to inflict their first harrowings practically salivated at the fresh meat they would have the opportunity to “test” as they had once been, but to Faustus - it was little more than a nuisance. Top Boy was obligated to attend every induction ceremony, whereupon each arriving witch or warlock would introduce themselves with a quick display of a spell from their own choosing. It was tedious and boring, watching the same incantation over and over, being forced to applaud the most_ _basic displays of magic. But one day, someone surprised him._

_He had known Edward since he was a boy - knew he was sharp-minded and charismatic, but nothing could have prepared him for the spell he chose as his introduction._

_A demon from the 7th circle. The boy had summoned and captured one the highest ranking demons from Hell. It simply was unheard of. Summoning required great power and Edward had yet to even be baptized._

_As such, the crowd was stunned into silence before Edward cast the demon back into the depths and a roar of applause followed. Faustus glanced over to see some of his comrades seething in resentment, practically licking their chops at the thought of what they were sure to do later that evening._

_“Stupid boy,” Faustus had whispered. One doesn’t show their best trick straight out of the gate. That’s how targets get placed._

_Sure enough, that evening Faustus heard a rustling of noise past his door every so often, signaling the capture of another inductee for their first test. He had become accustomed to tuning it out. instead of participating himself, he opted to keep his nose in a book and his hand translating ancient texts. However, somewhere in the night he heard a much stronger commotion, followed by screams of agony that sounded more like_ _his older students. Curiosity piqued, he stepped out of his private quarters and entered the boys dormitory to see quite a sight._

_The young Spellman boy was in the center of the room and all around him were the unmoving bodies of several of his senior students. He quickly straightened himself at the sight of Faustus and looked positively frightened._

_“Brother Spellman,” he walked over to him slowly, brow furrowed, and stopped a few feet in front of him. Edward glanced up at him in worry - surely this would be an act worth reprimanding and Satan only knew what punishments at the academy were like._

_But Faustus gave one more look to the unconscious bodies around him and huffed out the smallest of laughs. “How on Earth did you manage this?” he asked, bemused._

_Edward looked up tentatively, gauging if it was safe to speak. Casting his eyes back to the floor, he murmured, “I put a stunning spell on my bedsheets and... and fortified it with a contagion so it would cause a chain reaction.”_

_Faustus barked out a laugh. “Quite clever!” he said, “Where did you learn that?”_

_Relief mixed with pride washed over Edward’s face. “My father’s library.”_

_Faustus nodded, clearly impressed. “Fond of books, are you?”_

_“There are a great many things to learn from them,” Edward answered with a small smile._

_“Indeed,” he agreed, stepping in closer, “But Brother Spellman,” he said, concern returning in Edward’s face as he approached, “Do remember next time to stay on your guard.”_

_Suddenly - and to Edward’s great surprise - Faustus snapped his fingers and one of the older boys untouched by Edward’s spell fell screaming from behind the curtains, knife in hand._

_Edward stared at him in shock and with a twist of his wrist, Faustus had the already kneeling boy fall further into the floor. “Also best to remind your enemies that pain is not a weapon solely for their use. And show them no mercy.”_

_*****_

_Faustus was never quite sure why he took Edward under his wing like he did. Perhaps he saw the potential for a strong ally, perhaps he liked speaking with someone intelligent enough to understand him, perhaps being an only child made it feel like he finally had a brother, or perhaps he simply saw too much of himself in the boy._

_Whatever the reason, he and Edward werenear inseparable. Translating into the wee hours of the night, practicing spells in the woods until their hands cramped, and besting any and every challenger they came across._

_He taught him the intricacies of wickedness, the art of coercion, and the bending of wills. Edward, in return, became the most diligent of research assistants. Together, they delved into ancient magicks long considered obsolete, but the power they held was incomparable. And power was all that mattered._

_“I intend one day to be high priest,” Faustus confided in him one night. “I could certainly appoint you into a high position when the time comes.”_

_“Satan willing,” Edward had said, a wide grin on face._

*****

_He often noticed her sitting in the corner while they discussed their studies. She pretended to sew or polish silver or participate in some other mundane activity, but he knew better. Zelda Spellman was a sly fox, he learned quickly - listening in on their conversations, learning what they learned, and no one was the wiser. Except him. Occasionally, he’d lock eyes with her at a moment she was listening most intently and she’d shuffle back into her chosen activity with flushed cheeks and a downcast gaze. Edward was always too concentrated on proving his theories that he failed to even notice her presence at times._

_What a devious little minx, he had thought. Ever since that day in the forest, he had wondered how such knowledge had come to such a young witch. In so many ways, she was much cleverer than Edward, and her magnetism was truly awe inspiring. He often wondered if she was part siren, ensnaring the men in her close proximity with a silent song. Because any time she entered a room - a part of his attention was always on her. A piece of him always tugged towards the sight of her, as if he were gravity and she was the Earth._

_Finally, one evening he gathered the nerve to approach her, sitting at the drawing table where she was pretending to paint saucers for teacups. He set the book he’d brought with him in front of her and gestured to it with a smile. “Would you help me decipher this, Sister Spellman?”_

_She looked positively mortified and glanced uncertainly at Edward, who had just shifted in his chair to look at them._

_“I didn’t mean to disturb your studies... “ she said shyly, placing her hands in her lap._

_“Oh, go on, Zelly,” Edward said with a smile. “Sure you could teach Faustus here a thing or two.”_

_Faustus let out a low chuckle, “I’m rather certain that’s true,” and then raised his brow at her, gesturing encouragingly at the book._

_She gave a small smile, but then glanced at Edward questioningly once more._

_“Your brother’s more than capable of looking after himself,” Faustus said reassuringly. “Or, at least, I would hope by now.”_

_“Ha!” Edward huffed over his shoulder, having already turned back around with pen to paper, continuing to scan the text in front of him._

_“ ... Shall we?” Faustus asked._

_Her eyes lit up and she nodded happily, thumbing through the pages like a duck to water and Faustus sat in contented amazement at her for the remainder of the evening._

*****

_Over the years, evening studies saw Faustus retreating to the corner more and more frequently, leaving Edward to his own devices._

_He marveled at how quickly she would master a skill - sometimes within only a day - and felt something stir inside him every time she beamed at him proudly over her work. Before long, they were often sat in frenzied discourse over opposing interpretations on ancient hexes or runes or ingredient measurements. She was also often proved right, but it was nothing he’d admit aloud. Certainly not within earshot of Edward._

_But Edward soon found his own corner, branching away from his former mentor and dedicating himself to subjects that had never seemed to hold much interest to Faustus. Mortals were creatures beneath witches, after all - they were messy and dangerous and fragile. They were **interesting**. And Edward found, over time, that they possessed their own kind of magic - one that couldn’t be understood by followers of Satan. Not with the way they operated now, at least. And thus Edward, like Faustus, found his purpose._

*****

_One night, the high priest stood tall at the podium in the center observatory, speaking in inviting celebration for the start of a new term. He ran through the obligatory academy rules, guided them in prayer, and then announced the running for Top Boy._

_It had been a decade since Faustus had a challenger, the student populace resigning themselves to the fact he was unconquerable and the seat wouldn’t be freed until he graduated into a fellowship next year. So when the high priest called his name, he stepped forward with a modestly smug expression on his face... which quickly faded as he announced there was opposition._

_“Brother Edward Spellman!” he called and there was a sudden, tense hush among the crowd._

_Zelda looked stricken, her eyes darting between the two of them and Faustus barely managed a tense smile in acknowledgement as Edward arrived next to him._

*****

_“You could have at least informed me!” he shouted._

_“And have you persuade me out of it?” Edward countered. “I’ve spent long enough as your apprentice, there is nothing wrong with seeking my own glory!”_

_“Have I not taught you, trained you, **protected** you for decades, Edward? Am I not owed the decency of your allegiance?” Faustus seethed._

_“You did indeed teach me and I am only following your lead, Brother Blackwood. Must I remind you of what you always told me?”_

_“What exactly did I tell you?” he spat back._

_Edward took one defiant step forward, “‘Do remember to stay on your guard. Show your enemies no mercy.’ ... It is not my fault you failed to take your own advice.”_

_Faustus stared at his former mentee, his friend, his brother... and narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “Am I your enemy, Edward?”_

_Both of them stood still for a moment, fists clenched at their sides, and then Edward spoke in a low voice, “What else would you be?”_

*****

_“Edward, that’s blasphemy,” Zelda whispered tensely, looking around them worriedly to ensure no one overheard._

_“It’s not,” Edward answered back. “There is no sin in experimentation. The Dark Lord even commands it of us.”_

_“Not with mortals, Edward!”_

_“Why not?” he said. “Imagine if we could shepherd more followers to the path of night! We are becoming more and more scarce, sister - we must think of our survival.”_

_“We are becoming scarce because mortals are hunting us in our own forests,” Zelda spat back quietly, her eyes filling with anger, fear, and tears._

_“And I wish to stop that!” Edward told her. “By building an alliance.”_

_She shook her head nervously, standing up suddenly to put distance between him and his insane ideas. “Being Top Boy has gone to your head, brother. To think this is what I was endorsing in securing those votes for you... ,” she huffs resentfully, “You’re talking nonsense and I need t_ o _go prepare for this evening.”_

_Edward’s mouth tensed into a straight line. “I do wish you’d stop seeing him.”_

_She glared back at him challengingly. “I wish you’d stop trying to derail our future in the coven with your outrageous plans. And I have no say in who I’m paired for Lupercalia, you know this. The fact that I happen to enjoy the company of my partner is pure coincidence. Not that it is any of your business or concern!”_

*****

_Faustus ran his thumb along the glazed wood of the box in his pocket. He had considered skipping this particular obligation, but he was, at heart, a traditionalist and desired for this to be done correctly._

_He knocked on the door of his quarters and heard Edward call for him to come in. Papers were scattered all along the_ _desk that was once his and he felt a twinge of resentment rise in him before swallowing it down. Though he had enjoyed many a heated argument with Edward since his appointment as Top Boy, that’s not why he was here._

_Edward looked up from his papers with thinly-veiled defiance. “How can I help you, Faustus?”_

_Faustus clenched a fist at his side and mustered a tone of propriety as he spoke, “I’ve come to ask for your sister’s hand in marriage.”_

_“ ... Pardon?” Edward stood then, removing his glasses with a discerning expression._

_Faustus cleared his throat to cover the surely audible beating of his heart, “I would like to have your sister Zelda as my wife. As the head of your house, I am seeking your permission.”_

_“No,” Edward said quickly. “You do not have my permission.”_

_It was Faustus’ turn to look incredulous. “ ...Might I ask why?”_

_Edward huffed out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Why?” he said, smiling at him mockingly._

_“If this is purely due to your pride, while I do encourage and admire the saturation in sin, I do ask that you consider Zelda’s best interest here.”_

_“Her **best interest**?” Edward’s brows raised high enough to reach the ceiling on and he took a step back to eye him doubtfully._

_A moment of heavy silence passed between them._

_“... Do you love my sister, Faustus?” Edward asked._

_He flinched at the question, not knowing what could possibly prompt it. “Certainly not,” he said quickly with a tone of great offense. “To suggest such a thing... It’s mortal frivolity. A declaration of devotion that fades within a fraction of a witch’s time on Earth. Your sister is... Zelda is much more special. No, I do not **love** her, I... admire her and value her... “_

_“Covet her?” Edward said dryly and Faustus’ jaw clenched. “My sister is not an object nor a prize - I do know how how you enjoy those. Zelda deserves more than what you perceive her value to be. You came seeking an answer and my answer is no.”_

_*****  
_

_”He intends to present that blasphemous manifesto to the father of fathers upon his arrival in Rome tomorrow. We have let him run rampant too long - marrying the mortal, breeding with it, and now he thinks he can bring the whole Church to ruins! We cannot allow it!” the council member paced angrily across the marble floor._

_”And what would you suggest we do to remove a high priest of such favor to his coven?” another asked._

_The council member stilled, looking to his fellow warlocks very seriously. “He intends to travel by plane and the half-breed babe will be on board.”_

_A long pause followed._

_” ... Yes?” the same member asked._

_”Accidents do happen,” he answered._

_Faustus, who had been listening unnoticed just outside in the corridor took a deep breath._

_They were going to murder the high priest. Murder Edward and his child. Which meant..._

_Could he really let them do it? Could he let Edward board the plane that would kill him? Without any warning?_

_If the roles were reversed... would...  
_

_He looked forward then with a determined look in his eye, pursed his lips, and teleported himself away._

“Edward, enough,” Zelda says in the present, clenching hard to his arm and the scene before them fades until they are back in the Spellman foyer.

“Zelda?” he places his hands on her upper arms and squeezes lightly. “Sister, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t watch anymore,” she says tiredly, pleadingly. “Not today.”

He nods and embraces her lightly. “Alright... it’s alright,” he whispers soothingly, “That’s all there was for now. And we still have time.”

She turns her face into his shoulder, voice muffled against the fabric of his jacket, “I hope you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So to clear up any confusion - these are half Edward’s/half Faustus’ memories. A few more memories coming up (from Edward, Faustus, AND Zelda) in the next chapter and some pretty big revelations. Weeee, thanks for reading, bye!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I know this took forever. If you are here reading this, I am grateful.

_ It didn’t rain the day her parents died. She would always wonder – in all the stories she’d read and the tales she’d been told – why a storm was the device used to accompany the shuffling off this mortal coil, as if to suggest death cared at all about the weather… or those left behind. _

_Hilda had only been 12 when the high priest arrived at their door – one of the sunniest days they’d had in months - his face solemn and pale. It wasn’t unlike their parents to vanish under the veil of night for church duties that “they’d understand when they were older,” but to awaken without them waiting at the breakfast table had been unusual. Zelda had paced and wrung her hands, the knot in her stomach twisting tighter with every minute that passed - and when Edward teleported from the Academy into the kitchen just before a knock_ _at the door, she knew something was off._

_He sat them down in the parlor, explaining that the neighboring Church of Shadows had requested aid in tracking hunters they were sure would soon spread to Greendale. Mr. and Mrs. Spellman, coming from a long line of leadership and honor, volunteered to assist. But they’d been surrounded in minutes – a trap set by the hunters to lure as many witches into their grasp. All, but one in their group had perished._

_Zelda doesn’t recall exactly what she felt at hearing the words that her parents were gone, doesn’t recall if she said anything or cried. Her relationship with her mother and father was complicated at best and the knowledge that she would never hear the sting of disappointment in their voices again... it was oddly disconcerting. She didn’t know life without seeking their praise and approval and it simply was not computing that it would no longer be her norm._

_So much about those first few minutes after receiving the news escapes her, but she does remember her brother’s face. Edward was the first thing her mind thought to turn to – the eldest among them and now the head of their household. He was 30 in mortal years, but he might as well have still been a boy in witch terms, and the weight of all three of their worlds was now upon his shoulders. A young man at the start of his prime, on the path to greatness, now halted to mediocrity as a housebound warlock and the guardian of two young witches._

_But Edward was excellent at doing what he thought he needed to do. Particularly if it required a bit of nerve. He thrived under pressure and unfavorable odds, most victories coming to him under exactly those circumstances. Thus, it should have perhaps been unsurprising when he declared that he would be abandoning his leadership training to care for his sisters._

_“It’s not fair to you, Edward,” she’d said that night, after he shared his intentions to leave the academy._

_“None of this is fair, Sister, but it is what must be done,” he replied. “Without mother and father, you and Hilda are far too vulnerable and I won’t let you be picked apart at the academy like some neglected orphans.”_

_“I think we could handle ourselves if that’s what it came to,” Zelda countered with an arched brow._

_“Speak for yourself, please,” Hilda barely whispered, eyes focused on their mother’s empty rocking chair as she fidgeted with the hem of her own skirt._

_Edward considered them both for a moment and then let out a heavy sigh, “Well, it’s not what it will come to. Certainly not even before Hilda’s dark baptism!”_

_“Edward, you were called by the Dark Lord. Everyone knows so. You cannot be this careless with his gifts!” she begged. “Surely you know that is a risk to us, too... “_

_“The Dark Lord will understand. So, too, will the coven,” he nodded, mostly to himself, “With time.”_

_Zelda was astonished at her brother’s flippancy, frightened he couldn’t see the forest for the trees. “Brother, this isn’t what mother and father would want. You know that.”_

_“Mother and father are no longer here!” his chest puffed out from the swell of emotions building within him as Zelda’s own inner storm began to brew._

_“Please won’t you listen to reason? If not from me, perhaps someone?” her voice shook with the beginnings of tears, “The high priest? ... Or Brother Black-“_

_“NO,” Edward interrupted and Zelda looked up at him, hurt. “We will stay here. Together. There is more than enough money in the bank to see us through for several years. Though we will need to come up with a way to provide for ourselves when the time comes. For now, I shall... “ his voice broke as he massaged the spot between his eyes. “I shall submit my letter of withdrawal to the high priest and... and make arrangements with the coven for a viewing.”_

_He started to walk from the kitchen then, swift and determined, Zelda’s arms folded across her chest as she cast her tear-filled eyes to the floor. Just as he reached the threshold, Hilda’s small voice suddenly stopped him, “Brother... “ she said, eyes glossy and face full of sorrow. “Did... Did they suffer?”_

_Edward regarded his youngest sister for a moment, not yet 13, and in the pause it took him to muster an answer - it appeared he seemed to finally feel just how heavy the weight on his shoulders now was. “I... “ he whispered, pained, “I don’t know... I don’t know.”_

_With barely another breath, he dissolved into sobs, crumpling slowly to the floor and his sisters falling to their knees to meet him in a messy embrace. The Spellman siblings clung to each other that night, barely another word spoken between them, but a message passed in silence nonetheless - that they understood how much they needed each other, and that they were devoted to protecting any piece of their lives they’d been spared. Together._

*****

The door opens and Ambrose, along with Zelda and Marie, walk in. It’s unnervingly quiet and still, save for the buzz of the protective barrier Ambrose cast before they entered. He’s shrunken in a corner with his knees pulled to his chest and his hands over his ears as he mutters nonsense and twitches.

“Ton mari?” Marie asks with a look of concern and Zelda nods.

She had summoned Marie from the infirmary at the Academy, where she and Hilda had recently made the most excellent healing duo. Marie’s connection to the spirit world combined with Hilda’s knack for herbalism had spared the entirety of the coven thus far in battle, of which there had been several.

Not even a week prior, they had seen him, a maniacal look in his eye, leading an army of undead against them, to poison the town with the Terror of Grief. Malevolent entities inhabiting the bodies of lost loved ones to deceive and torment mortal and witch alike. Prudence had screamed in agony upon seeing Dorcas, reanimated and possessed, clawing and scratching outside the Academy doors. And only two days ago, when he brought Loneliness, he stood at the edge of a cliff as he guided mortal after tortured mortal over the edge to their deaths with a smile on his face.

But here now, he looks small, frail, and tortured. He’s noticeably thin, his skin gaunt and sullen, with dark circles under his eyes. It makes no sense. He’d appeared perfectly healthy, albeit insane, just a couple days ago. Among other things, it’s why she asked for Marie, appearing to her via astral projection and giving her no further details except not to tell anyone else where she was headed.

Zelda can see in her eyes now that she understands. Marie could not perform magic in the traditional sense that Zelda knew, but she had certain gifts that others of her kind did not. “Discernment,” she had called it one night as she brushed her hair. “All the women in my family possess it.”

She had provided a demonstration on Sabrina’s mortal teacher, who they’d teleported to the academy after a particularly rough battle. The Wardwell woman who’d she’d come to associate with Lilith was noticeably afflicted by madness and hellbent on harming herself. Sabrina was in such a state, distraught and begging for help, that they’d had to remove her from the room and practically force a calming elixir down her throat.

Marie then placed a single hand on Mary, both women gasping as they struggled through a shared consciousness. When Marie removed herself, she was clearly drained, but Mary had finally calmed.

“Do not alter this woman’s memory,” she instructed firmly, walking to the nearest chair on unsteady legs. “Deceit has consumed her - not even her soul knows who she is. It will take much energy... and _time_ to heal her.”

Zelda hopes can withstand reading Faustus. She knows it will take a toll and she is prepared to accept that she might decline to help - it is rather odd to ask one’s lover to speak with their spouse, after all - but it may help them find a way to end this madness.

“Do you think you can, Mambo?” Ambrose asks softly, after explaining the circumstances in which they found him.

Marie walks closer to the barrier, staring in wide-eyed concern, and Zelda suddenly reaches for her hand with trepidation. Maybe this isn’t necessary. Maybe there’s another way.

But she gives Zelda a sympathetic, knowing nod, squeezing her hand, and then addresses her and Ambrose. “I think I must, cherie,” she says, a tone of certainty in her voice, and lets go of Zelda’s hand. “Can I pass through?” Marie gestures to the barrier and Ambrose nods.

“Yes, it’s bound by a lock of his hair, so it only affects him.”

Zelda’s brows raise in proud surprise, smiling though tears are beginning to form in her eyes, “Smart boy,” and Ambrose timidly smiles back.

“Very well,” Marie says with a sigh, “Then, there is no reason to delay,” and she steps through without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it’s not clear, the second portion of this chapter is picking up from where we left off in chapter 2 (ya know, that chapter I wrote like 8 months ago 🌝). Sorry if it’s hard to follow. 
> 
> Anyway, shit’s about to get real. K, thanks for reading, bye!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello! Slightly faster update here. I’ve found that the longer I try to make these, the more I rewrite and agonize over them, so not all of the action I originally had planned for this chapter is present, but there are some important bits that I hope are interesting nonetheless. Thanks for reading!

_She was laid beneath him in his bed, her arms stretching out above her head like a waking cat, and a pleasant hum escaped her lips as he kissed his way up her stomach. The last embers of twilight had just faded when he’d removed her dress and tossed her atop the pillows. He’d smiled wolfishly as he climbed up to join her and she squealed with delight when he pounced as if she were prize prey. He had elicited many other sounds from her that night - some that sounded much like his name, others that were nothing more than breathless whimpering. His touch was reverent, but determined. It was as if his hands spoke a language only they and her body knew, their skin softly colliding in familiar, easy conversation over and over and over again and each blissful ascent was the sweeter the fall._

_He murmured to her of her beauty, told her how very special she was, called her ‘his’... and she gave him thanks in the form of grateful sighs and tender kiss_ es _to his neck, his shoulder, his lips._

_By the time they had just begun to be sated, the rays of the morning sun were filtering in and they’d yet to sleep a wink._

_“I do believe we have once again lost track of time,” she said fondly, and his laugh was muffled against the soft flesh of her sternum._

_He kissed the side of her breast and looked up at her with a devious smile. “I do believe it was time well spent, wouldn’t you agree?”_

_She smirked, her fingers threading through his hair and idly stroking one unruly lock of curls. “I might,” she raised her brow playfully, “That is, if I were left with a fraction of the energy needed for my obligations today. But, thanks to you,” he grinned wide and wiggled his brows, “I’m destined for exhaustion.”_

_“Mmm, well now,” he finished kissing his way up her chest and neck, pulling back slightly once he reached her face, “That is quite a predicament I’ve placed you in. Might I offer you the rest I’ve denied you here now? I’m sure Professor Biers will accept my apologies for your absence on your behalf.”_

_He pressed his lips to hers then and she chuckled softly. He eyed her with curious amusement and she reached a hand up to touch his face. “As if I give any care to what Professor Biers thinks. I could’ve lectured him to shame on ancient hexes long before I ever signed my name in the Dark Lord’s book.”_

_Faustus let out a throaty laugh, smiling at her fondly and letting his eyes wander over her face. “I’m rather certain that’s true,” he brought his own hand up over hers and stroked his thumb over her knuckles. “Then I must admit I am perplexed as to what I’ve kept you from.”_

_“Oh? Do you assume to know everything it is I do?” she asked with a cheeky pursing of her lips._

_He smiled with a mischievous glint in his eyes, his lips brushing over hers, “I’d certainly like to.”_

_She allowed him another kiss at his words and then forced herself to push him up and away, disentangling from him and sitting up on the bed. She grabbed her knickers from the bedpost where they’d been tossed haphazardly the previous evening and stood to step into them. He didn’t at all make it easy for her, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her shoulder or nipping at her ear._

_She giggled as she swatted him away, now hooking the clasps of her corset up her torso. He gave her a look she might describe as a pout and took pity, kissing him once while simultaneously snatching her stockings from where they laid behind him._

_“My brother requested I meet him in the library this morning. Said he had something important to discuss. I loathe to think of what he’ll say if I’m late,” her dress was nearly done up._

_Faustus’ brow furrowed slightly, but he stood to help her with a warm look. “Odd. Edward didn’t mention anything of great importance to me recently.”_

_Zelda huffed out another small laugh as he finished the final button of her dress collar. “Do you assume to know everything my brother does, as well?”_

_To that, he gave a slightly exasperated sigh. “There was a time I might have said yes, but that is indeed much more of a mystery now. I’m not certain I understand much of what goes on in his head these days at all.”_

_“Likewise,” she breathed out, looking at herself in the mirror as she painted on a fresh pout. “But I’ve come to learn that all warlocks have their idealistic phases. Was it not a newly appointed Top Boy who once suggested we dine with demons every fortnight?”_

_Faustus’ mouth opened slightly, but he only smirked, nodding. “‘Twas indeed. A rather naive attempt at appeasing the peskier of his Dark Lord’s servants so they’d be less inclined to meddle and possess. To an admittedly disastrous failure.”_

_“And what was the name of that Top Boy, do you recall?” she met his eyes in the mirror with a smug look._

_“I’d rather not say,” he said with a tilt of his chin._

_“Mmm, of course,” she whispered fondly, picking up her rings and gliding them over their designated fingers. He had stepped to mere inches behind her and reached up to fluff her hair softly._

_“Well, if Edward has such plans, I’ve no doubt you’ll see to convincing him otherwise,” he murmured._

_She sighed sadly in response, turning around then, “My brother has a tumultuous history when it comes to accepting my counsel. As you might recall.”_

_Indeed, the night that Edward declared he would leave the academy was the night Zelda teleported to Faustus’ bed chamber and begged him to make Edward change his mind. She was newly 16, just baptized, and just beginning to find her footing at the academy. If Edward left now, she would be obligated to follow, and then Hilda... her sweet, dim-witted sister would never even attend. May not even sign her name in the Book of the Beast. And where would that leave them? The Spellmans reduced to weak hedge witches - without a coven and left as easy pickings for the same hunters who’d killed her parents. The same mortals who’d cornered her in the woods and... Oh, he just **had** to help... Edward looked up to him, trusted him... **she** trusted him. “Please, Faustus,” she’d sobbed into his shoulder, “I’m so frightened. Please.”_

_She was an absolute wreck in his arms and it took a great amount of effort and time to calm her down. Once she had, he wrapped a warm blanket over her shoulders and fixed her a cup of tea. “I will speak to Edward and return him to his senses,” he assured her, Zelda looking at him gratefully through watery eyes, “You will not be unprotected. I won’t allow it.”_

_He brushed her hair from her face gently then and they looked at each other in silence for a brief moment, something new passing between them that they’d yet to feel before - and without even thinking, Zelda leaned forward and kissed him for the first of many times in their lives._

_Zelda’s not entirely sure what Faustus said to convince him, but after a mourning period - Edward returned to the academy as if he never intended to leave. The basement of the Spellman home was renovated into a morgue soon thereafter, a brilliant business to earn money and keep track of hunters through the bodies they received. As it was a service to the community and protection to the coven, operations were overseen by elder members of the coven - friends of Mr. and Mrs. Spellman - while their children attended school._

_It was as near to perfect as it could be. Without Faustus, who knows what it could have been._

*****

Zelda gets pulled from her reverie as Marie emerges from the barrier between them and Faustus. She’s not drained as she was with Mary, but she is noticeably confused, taking several moments to gather herself.

After sitting for a minute and sipping some water, she finally addresses an anxious Ambrose and Zelda, “There is something... unnatural about him.”

Ambrose lets out a nervous chuckle, “Yes, I think we know that, Mambo.”

Zelda tosses him a scolding look and Marie sighs, “No, it’s... it’s as if he is half of himself. Half of a soul. Something is... _missing_.”

“Darling, what did you see?” Zelda whispers, flushing slightly when Ambrose looks over as she’d yet to use terms of endearment in front of her family, but this one simply slipped.

Marie, still clearly trying wrap her head around it, glazes over it and takes another sip of water. “I saw... “ she looks a Zelda with a sympathetic gaze, “I saw love.”

Both Ambrose and Zelda’s brows furrow in unison, Zelda’s head shaking slightly in disbelief. “And pain,” Marie continues. “So much of both. Always intertwined.”

“Forgive me,” Ambrose says softly, “But is that not how it always is?”

Marie eyes him curiously, shocked by the question, and looking nearly offended. “Mais non!” she says with conviction, setting her water glass down with a clink, and leaning in close to him. “They are often side by side, but to _never_ experience one free of the other? Even for a moment? That is torture.”

Zelda casts her eyes to the floor, her thoughts racing, and then she lets out soft, dismissive huff. “Faustus has never loved anyone, but himself.”

Marie’s eyes become very serious and very sad much too quickly for Zelda’s comfort. “I don’t think I need to tell you what I saw for you to know that’s not true, cherie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marie details what she saw in the next chapter and we get a hint of what’s going on with Faustus’ “half soul.”
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, lads! Part 4 is hurtling towards us, but perhaps I can get to the climax of this fic before then! As always, thanks for reading! :)

_Edward had just closed the lid of the trunk at the foot of his bed, gathering up the books and other belongings he’d stored there, when he heard the unmistakable sound of someone arriving via teleportation. He stilled, but he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was._

_“There’s nothing you can say to change my mind,” Edward said plainly, quickly returning his attention to packing his things._

_“I wouldn’t dare to assume so,” Faustus replied, walking into his peripheral sight and sitting on the bed next to his._

_Edward’s jaw tightened as he shoved the last of his books into a suitcase, “Then why are you here?”_

_Faustus audibly exhaled, offering a non-committal shrug, “I suppose I’m here to see you off.”_

_“Right,” he said skeptically. “Spoken to my sister, have you?”_

_He feigned confusion in response, “Oh? Uh… Which sister would that be?”_

_Edward turned to look at him with impatience and Faustus let it sit for a moment before breathing out a resigned sigh. “Yes, Zelda did come to me.”_

_Edward huffed in frustration, looking up at the ceiling and shaking his head with annoyed disbelief, “She seems to do that rather often these days.”_

_“Mmm,” Faustus replied, “Perhaps there’s a reason why?”_

_His nostrils flared slightly as he s_ lammed _his suitcase shut. “What in Satan’s name do you mean by that?”_

_“I’ve only spent the better half of the past three decades in your home… teaching you, guiding you… perhaps it is presumptuous of me, but I believe I might be familiar enough to suggest that-”_

_“THIS DOES NOT CONCERN YOU!” Edward shouted, something igniting in the pit of his stomach and exploding before he even knew what he was doing. “Just because your own home was so undesirable that your weaseled your way into lingering at mine does not make you part of my family! Keep your suggestions, they are not welcome! You do not have authority here, this is not your loss!”_

_For perhaps the first time in his life, he watched Faustus’ impenetrable composure falter. Even if only for an instant. Edward knew he was being incredibly unfair, but something inside him wouldn’t allow him to admit it. Not aloud and certainly not to himself._

_“I’ve upset you,” Faustus said with a slight twitch to his forced, appeasing smile. “I do not wish to impose on your grief, so forgive me for assuming that any of my time in your home was because I was welcomed, Brother Spellman. You’re right, I have lost nothing here.”_

_Edward’s pursed lips trembled slightly as he took a deep breath, his mind racing and shame beginning to build. Faustus had suffered many losses before Edward ever did and it was incredibly insensitive of him to suggest otherwise. As such, he was near ready to soften and speak to him like a fellow human being, but Faustus interrupted before he could._

_“As I said, I’m not here to stop you, so I will take my leave. This is your choice and you believe it’s what’s right for you and your sisters, so it must be.” _

_“Yes, precisely,” Edward gave him a defiantly affirming look, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end because his mentor was being suspiciously understanding._

_“Might I recover your notes on the relics of Gehenna before you go?” Faustus asked suddenly. “I’d like to get your replacement up to speed as quickly as possible.”_

_“Replacement?” he replied, barely masking his confusion._

_Faustus smiled somewhat sheepishly, shrugging. “Yes, well… you’ve been so difficult to track down,” he gestured with his hands, adding “Understandably,” and then cleared his throat. “But I received a response from the unholy Vatican that our research endeavor has been approved.”_

_Edward’s face fell in shock and the hand that had been firmly grasping the handle of his suitcase slipped. “It has?”_

_“Indeed,” Faustus nodded, smiling weakly before standing and clapping his hand on Edward’s shoulder. “But not to worry – I’ve already submitted to the council the notice of your departure. I simply can’t do the work all on my own, though, you see. So I’ve commissioned an assistant to take your place.”_

_Edward stood still in silence, mouth parted, and eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to process all that he just heard. He and Faustus had submitted roughly a dozen research proposals over the years and nary a one had received any interest. But this one... he’d poured every last ditch attempt he had into it, authoring more of the motion than he ever had before, presenting truly novel views on their ancient texts and doctrines even though Faustus had made him revise some of the more radical wording. When weeks went by without an answer, Edward assumed they had again been overlooked. This was just... unbelievable. And suspicious timing, at that._

_“Is... “ Edward closed his eyes briefly, contemplating, and took a deep breath. “Is this a trick?”_

_Faustus released his shoulder and reached into his back trouser-pocket, presenting a folded letter to Edward that bore the unmistakable seal of the unholy Vatican. “See for yourself.”_

_Edward took it and read over each word carefully, only daring to look at Faustus once he confirmed the signature at the bottom._

_“When did you receive this?” Edward peered at him over the top of the letter._

_“Three days ago,” Faustus responded and Edward let out a heavy exhale. Faustus had requested his presence three afternoons ago, but he never attended because... because..._

_“It was an honor to work with you, Brother Spellman,” Faustus said suddenly, grasping the letter with a pinch of his fingers and taking it from a visibly rattled Edward. “I admit I will miss your companionship. But I understand.”_

_Edward croaked out a single syllable as Faustus patted a strong hand on his shoulder, smiling at him sadly, and then turning to walk away._

_He had just reached the edge of the threshold when something overcame Edward and he all but shouted, “Wait!”_

*****

“You must speak with your brother and soon,” Marie says tiredly, taking a seat at the Spellman kitchen table back upstairs.

Zelda’s eyes widen in concern. “Why?”

Marie sighs deeply and then leans in, elbows on the table. “I cannot make sense of all I saw. It’s... “ she shakes her head in confusion, “It’s too fragmented. But there is something between them... and  _you_ ,  cherie... “ she looks at Zelda sorrowfully and Zelda’s breath hitches. “Something that cuts deep. So deep it never mended... C’est catastrophique.”

Marie looks down at the table then, eyes unfocused, a shaky hand coming up to her lips as she visibly attempts to keep searching through the flashes of Faustus’ life she gained from him.

“I’ll... “ Zelda says with uncertainty, “I’ll ask Edward, but last he visited - it seemed he had nothing more to share.”

“No,” Marie says very seriously, taking Zelda by surprise. “He is keeping something secret. Not being completely truthful. You must press him.”

A lump rises in Zelda’s throat that tastes like a mix of confusion and offense and her lips tremble slightly before she can gether next words out, “Why would Edward hide anything from me now? Why would my _mét-tét_ be dishonest?”

Marie bristles slightly at the implication, but then takes a slow, deep breath, placing her hand over Zelda’s, “Those who care most for us often try to shield us from pain.”

“I assure you Edward hasn’t spared me from any such pain since he began visiting,” she says quickly, tears building in her eyes.

“Perhaps not,” Marie says sympathetically, “He’s shown you everything this man did what was wrong. But has he shown you his own wrongs?”

Zelda stares into her eyes, swallowing thickly, and whispers, “Why do Edward’s wrongs matter?”

Marie squeezes her hand, her other coming up to rest over Zelda’s wrist. “That is what needs answering, cherie. Those who guide us from beyond the veil were human once, too. They protect us from pain by others... and more importantly, from pain they caused themselves. Because they know _that_ pain would hurt worst of all. You understand, yes?”

Zelda knows there is a bigger message and greater meaning to this conversation than what it seems, but she doesn’t want - no, she  can’t accept there is more than she’s already seen. It’s too much. Her heart has been broken too many times and she is so very tired.

As Marie always seems to, she senses Zelda’s inner struggle and slides from her chair to kneel at Zelda’s lap, her hand coming up to her face to wipe her tears. “Shhh, you have done so well,” she says soothingly and Zelda cries all the harder, leaning her head down onto Marie’s shoulder and burying her face into the crook of her neck.

Marie kisses the side of her face, stroking her hair, and Zelda places her hand over hers, stilling her movements and pressing against it - both grateful and clinging.

“I think I found it Aun- oh!” Ambrose looks away awkwardly, appearing at the kitchen threshold with a heavy book in hand.

Zelda’s head snaps up and she quickly disentangles from Marie, wiping furiously at her tears as she tries to regain some composure, “What is it, Ambrose? What did you find?”

Ambrose takes a tentative step towards the table and Marie rises to meet him as he places the book down, flipping to the pages his finger had been been sandwiched between to mark them. The three of them crowd around it, hovering closely as Ambrose points to a chapter title, “Time Magick and The Split Soul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Secrets, secrets, so many secrets. But all will be revealed soon. Thanks again for reading! :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Part 4 incoming! Panic-posting chapters as fast as I can cranked them out! Thanks for reading!

Ambrose’s hands shake as he strokes his finger over the words on the page. “Man and witch are born of one soul, claimed by light or dark, and will live in the time and space they’re intended by the greater powers of our creation. To tear through time is akin to tearing one’s soul - a piece left behind in the reality it was born as it moves into another. With each enactment, this sacrilege will bear punishment greater than the last and time will attempt to resolve itself in the destruction of each soul fragment... so, too, will be the destruction of its host reality.”

When he finishes, his heart is pounding so hard, he can feel it in his ears and sweat has formed over his brow. He looks to Aunt Zee who wears an equally alarmed and confused expression while Mambo places her palms out in front of her, eyes closed, and appears to say a quiet prayer.

“If this text is correct, it means that Faustus... “ Aunt Zelda steadies herself by placing her palm on the table. “That he’s... “

“Cloned himself, essentially,” Ambrose states in a shaky sigh. “Prudence and I know that he traveled through time more than once before we found him in Loch Ness.”

“How many times?” Marie says, concerned.

He shakes his head, flabbergasted and scared, and then shrugs, “Could be infinite.”

“Dear goddess... “ Aunt Zelda breathes out.

“Oh, there’s... “ Ambrose flips through a couple of pages. “There’s more.”

They gather in close again as Ambrose begins to read aloud, “Fragments can present themselves variably. Some as pure duplicates - whole reincarnations of the original soul with memories and livedexperiences of their original reality. Others may be facets - pieces of subconscious set free from the rip in time. Many others still unknown.”

“This,” Marie’s eyes close slowly and reopen, slightly hazed, “This explains who I spoke to.”

“What?” Zelda asks, darting her eyes between Marie and Ambrose in distress. “What do you mean?”

“I spoke not to his whole, but a part. The part that feels and longs and... and loves. So fragile... but so intense. Peculiar it should isolate only those emotions,” she says in a hushed whisper.

“So then he’s split into facets, not duplicates, as the text says?” Ambrose asks hesitantly.

“I’m not sure. If he visited many realities, he could have both for all we know.”

They all breathe in silence for a moment, processing the information and visibly trying to formulate solutions in their minds. Ambrose thinks back to the night they found Father Blackwood... well, this _piece_ of Father Blackwood... in the forest and he remembers something he said. _‘I wandered alone for so long! I feared they would destroy me before I saw her again.’_

“Mambo,“ Ambrose asks tentatively as she and Aunt Zelda look up at him. “Did you happen to see where he was before we found him in the forest?”

Marie’s brow furrows as she searches her mind and then she shakes her head, “No, it was strange. I saw life up until the defeat of the Pagans in spring. Then it was... everything was crumbling... and then darkness.”

“Destruction of host realities,” Ambrose gasps, bringing a hand up to his mouth as the realization dawns on him. “The timeline must’ve tried to resolve itself and destroyed the reality in which he lived... or was left in.”

“Then why was he not destroyed with it? And how did he arrive here?” Marie asks skeptically.

“The Mark of Cain!” Aunt Zelda says suddenly and Ambrose thinks he may be developing an eye twitch. “Edward told me he bears the Mark of Cain!”

Marie still looks confused and Aunt Zelda explains, “It means he cannot be killed. Which, it seems, extends to every version of himself, no matter how many there are.”

“Mon dieu,” Marie sighs.

“Yes,” Aunt Zelda says. “But I still don’t... “ she shakes her head as if to catch herself, “We’ll need to find a way to remove it and reconcile the... _possibly_ infinite fragments of his soul  before our timeline becomes the next target for destruction. I’ll summon Edward immediately.”

Aunt Zee starts to rush out of the kitchen, likely towards her bedroom, but guilt and the obligation of responsibility are prickling at the back of Ambrose’s neck. Aunt Zelda doesn’t know it’s not just Father Blackwood who’s ripped through time and now would be the opportune moment to inform her of his cousin’s duality in hell and on earth. Because if their timeline is a target for destruction, there’s more than one reason it could be. And they’ll need to tackle both.

“Au-Auntie,” Ambrose stutters and her red hair flips over her shoulder as she stops to look at him.

“What is it, Ambrose? Quickly!” she pleads.

“There’s-“

Suddenly, there’s an unmistakable pop of someone teleporting into the kitchen and Marie, Ambrose, and Zelda all freeze - wide-eyed - as the smooth voice of Prudence calls out to them. “Directrix Spellman? Ambrose? Are you home?”

Zelda and Ambrose stare at each other in panic and just before Zelda begins to open her mouth to address Prudence, Marie glides past them into the foyer.

“They just left, cherie,” Marie says and Prudence gives a startled laugh.

“Oh... to the academy?” she asks.

“No, I believe they stated they were going to examine the forest where they found your sister and the others.”

There’s a moment of silence that Ambrose can sense is Prudence deciding whether she believes Marie’s explanation.

“I see,” she says plainly. “Perhaps I should join them. I’ve been absent from helping for too long now.”

“But of course not,” Marie soothes her and Ambrose and Zelda both take in deep breaths. “They want you to be with your sister. She needs you, yes?”

“I did miss her terribly,” Prudence admits, “And she was... she was so corrupted by my father,” Ambrose shares a tense glance with Aunt Zelda, “But I believe she is coming back to herself now.”

“By the work of your hand, no doubt,” Marie smiles and he hears Prudence sigh sweetly. He imagines the smile on her face is as sadly beautiful as her eyes were every time he looked in them. _Dear Prudence, one day please forgive me_ , he thinks.

“Come! If you wish to help, you can teleport us back to the academy so I can deliver this wormwood Hilda requested. You will do that for Mambo, yes? Allez-y!”

They hear a faint chuckle of assent and then a whoosh which signals their departure. Breathing audible sighs of relief, Aunt Zelda takes a moment to compose herself, but then straightens into the regal posture he only associates with her.

“What were you going to tell me, Ambrose?” she asks.

Perhaps now isn’t so opportune. Aunt Zee needs to focus on Father Blackwood and hearing the news of Sabrina will surely derail her entirely. But if he visits his cousin(s) while his Auntie visits his uncle... perhaps she they can divide and conquer. And when he tells her - tells everyone - they’ll already know how to fix it.

“On second thought, it’s not important, Aunt Zee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So why did Faustus start this nightmare in the first place? Big reveal next chapter ooohhhh. Thanks again for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😬😬😬😬🌝🌝🌝🌝 Hey.

_Faustus was knelt at the hearth in his childhood home. It’d been three years since his father passed, but he had scarcely found himself visiting the walls of his boyhood, leaving it to be tended by the servants who stayed on. But a ritual such as this had to be performed in a space of ownership, to some regard, and he did not want to risk that his chambers at the academy not suffice._

_With a deep breath, he dipped his finger in the soot from the previous fire and took to drawing a pentagram where he knelt. Reciting a quick prayer in Latin, he opened his palms face-up with outstretched arms and awaited a reply._

_A few moments passed and he worried he had either performed a step incorrectly or was deemed unworthy of a visit, but then suddenly flame ignited in the fireplace of its own volition and he heard the low rumble of a deep, beastly voice._

_“Why have you summoned me, son of night?” the Dark Lord asked through the flame._

_Faustus lowered his arms and stared wide-eyed with a gulp before gaining the courage to speak. “I… I wish to make a deal, my Lord.”_

_“A deal?” the sly mirth in his tone was unmissable. “Pray tell, what for?”_

_Faustus hesitated, wondering for the briefest of moments if this was the right decision, but the moment he considered what he’d lose if he didn’t, he found his voice quickly, “The Unholy Vatican has rejected a research proposal from myself and my protégé. I wish to have that decision reversed.”_

_The Dark Lord chuckled darkly and a shiver ran up Faustus’ spine. “Yes, I recall the council seeking my word on that proposal… it contained quite a few radical ideas, if my memory serves. Which it does. Ideas that could unravel faith in our established order and in me.”_

_“Yes,” Faustus dared to interrupt. “I agree, my Lord, but it is my protégé, Brother Spellman. A rather talented warlock, but as I’m sure you know – his values are, at times, misguided,” he fumbled with his hands for a moment, “However, I believe there is merit to the notion that progressive propositions will benefit the church. And could encourage conversion of witches subscribed to other gods.”_

_“Is that so?”_

_“One can only know for sure if it’s put into practice, yes?” Faustus replied nervously._

_There was a contemplative silence followed by a skeptical sigh. “If I grant your request, what shall I get in return?”_

_Faustus nodded. “I have considered many things I could offer, but my desire for this is so great that I rather offer you the choice yourself, my Lord.”_

_A deep laugh echoed throughout the room. “You mean to allow me anything?”_

_“Anything of mine, yes,” Faustus clarified._

_“Hm,” the Dark Lord murmured, seemingly pleased and Faustus allowed himself a tentative sigh of relief. “In that case, I will grant your request.”_

_All of Faustus’ tensed muscles relaxed and he smiled appreciatively, “Thank you, my Lord. I am indebted grea-“_

_“ **On the condition** ,” he interrupted. “That you do not know what it is I will take. Nor when. But that by accepting my blessing, you agree that it is my right to anything you possess or covet.”_

_Faustus’ eyes unfocused as he considered the multitude of consequences that could arise. And then after a moment - decided, again, that all of them were worth it. “I accept, Dark Lord.”_

_“Very well,” he whispered hoarsely, the flame fading to ash as the room went dark and silent._

_Faustus’ palms hit the floor with shaky arms and his breath quickened. What would possibly become of him?_  
  


*****

“I had no knowledge of the deal,” Edward says reassuringly. “And admittedly, my… pride drove me to believe that our proposal was accepted largely because of my contributions. I thought the Church needed me. Which is why… “

“You entered for Top Boy,” Zelda finishes for him.

Edward’s face flashes briefly with shame and he nods. “Yes. And Faustus’ theory that the church would gain new membership from progressive tenants was correct. For a while. I gained so much traction that I… surpassed him. And so you see - the Dark Lord’s price was taking Faustus’ chance at being high priest.”

Zelda lets out a shaky breath as all the dots begin to connect. Could that really be it? It certainly makes sense. But could Faustus really fault and resent Edward so much for something he didn’t even know?

_“Something happened between them. Something that cut so deep it never mended.”_

Marie’s words ring in her ear and the image of the frail, fragile man she’s currently hosting in the Spellman morgue tugs at a place in her heart that she wants to ignore. But it still doesn’t feel complete. Faustus did get to be high priest. Was nearly anti-pope. Did taking that away genuinely result in his desire for the destruction of the entire world? That alone?

“You can’t save him now, sister, surely you know that,” he says softly, interrupting her thoughts, “The only option is to defeat the terrors… and he  will be destroyed in the process. I wish it were different, but this is the choice he made.”

She swallows the lump forming in her throat and fiddles idly with her cup of tea. “I still don’t understand,” she whispers.

“What do you mean?” he asks, brow furrowed.

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly as she exhales, and then looks at him earnestly, “Why does he have so much anger towards you?”

Perhaps she imagines it, but she thinks she sees him flinch before he noticeably tenses and his hand balls into a loose fist on the table. “I should think that obvious now. He… “ Edward searches for the right words, “ … was blinded with envy… that I took the role he felt was his. And that envy turned to wrath. He’s been a lost soul since.”

As much as she wants to believe it’s that simple, a knawing feeling in the pit of her stomach tells her otherwise. It’s made all the more complicated when she looks into her brother’s eyes and sees… under all the gentle wisdom and comforting guidance… fear. Whatever for?

If it were any other time in her life, she wouldn’t question it - she would listen, obey, and trust her older brother on his word. But Edward has been gone for years and if her time without him taught her anything at all, it was that not questioning the questionable only lead to pain and destruction. And she simply cannot allow any further hurt to occur on her watch.

“Edward,” she says plainly in a low voice and he straightens a little in his chair, lips pursed, as if he knows what she’s about to say. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeaaaahhhh, so there’s a part two to the ‘big reveal’. I know I’m awful and if you rage-close this fic and stop reading, I will not blame you. But if you’re still here - thank you! I‘m grateful you’ve stuck with me and I hope the next chapter (which truly reveals it _all_ is satisfying and worth the wait). Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> The lines between mature and explicit are a bit skewed and hard to distinguish for me personally, so if you ever feel I should up the rating, just lemme know. Thanks for reading! Happy Lupercalia/Valentine’s Day, you cuties! 😘


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